


Dance With the Daedra: A Skyrim Series

by panda_reads



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Blood and Gore, Cannibalism, Daedra, Daedra Worship, Daedric Princes, F/F, F/M, Sacrifice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-16
Updated: 2019-06-16
Packaged: 2020-05-13 05:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19245085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/panda_reads/pseuds/panda_reads
Summary: A Nord Dragonborn wrestles with her demons. Too bad that daedra have a tendency to wrestle back.





	1. Old Clavicus Vile, He Had a Dog

She storms out of the cavern, the heavy, hideous mask shoved in her pack, ignored until she can get home and stash it in a box somewhere. Clavicus Vile has his axe and his dog, and Selene never wants to hear that smug voice again. “Stupid daedric _ass_ ,” she spits, climbing several feet down to the path. If she keeps pace, she can make it to Ivarstead by nightfall. Once there, she can get a horse, ride to Whiterun, and be rid of the daedra’s damned mask.

She hears a bark as she starts down the path. A dog catches up to her, tail wagging. It looks like all the other hounds, but she can see the spark of yellow in its eyes. “Barbas?”

_[ I didn’t want you to walk away angry ]_ the dog explains. _[ Plus, you didn’t kill me ]_

“I like dogs,” she mutters. “I’d wager he bet on that, and that I wouldn’t hurt you.”

_[ Well, I appreciate you sparing me ]_

“You ‘appreciate’ it?” She wrinkles her nose. “Barbas, you’ve been a charming companion, but I think you’ve spent too much time with that hells-spawned _bastard,_ ” she shouts, knowing the daedric prince can hear her. She doesn’t particularly care. Clavicus Vile knows what he is, and so does she. She won’t be foolish enough to walk into another daedra’s trap.

The dog tilts his head. _[ I asked if I could walk with you awhile. Clavicus is, ah, vile, but, he also can’t do anything without me. If I’m gone for a while, well, he’s stuck in his cave for a bit longer. It’s a win-win ]_ He wags his tail. _[ So, where are you going? ]_

“Ivarstead.” She rolls her eyes. “The Grey Beards have summoned me. What an honor.”

Barbas catches her sarcasm. _[ Gonna march your way up that mountain, huh? ]_

“Eventually.” She lifts her eyes. “There are a lot of mountains. I could probably find a good one to hide on.”

_[ Ah, hiding’s no fun. Take it from me ]_

“I should trust the wisdom of a daedric dog?”

_[ Hey, I’m just a dog, Clavicus is the daedra. You got him what he wanted, you got his mask, you kept your soul, it all worked out ]_

“Yes, now I have this ugly thing to carry around until I can get home.”

_[ What, you’re just going to hide it? ]_

“Yes, Barbas, because I had one run in with the Vigil of Stendarr, and I would prefer to keep a lot of distance between them and me.”

_[ Oh. Yes. Yes, let’s keep our distance. I don’t like them ]_ The dog trots ahead of her, a skip in his step. _[ Let’s go. I can walk with you as far as the mountain pass. Any farther, and Clavicus will think I abandoned him to be_ your _dog ]_

Selene can’t help smiling. She likes Barbas; he’s foolish and sweet, even if he is bound to a monster. There are worse ways to keep a daedra in line than with an eternally patient dog. She wonders, briefly, what it is like to live for millennia, to exist when the entire world is dying, when war comes and goes, and dragons roam the world, destroying cities, burning villages, eating civilians, and, somehow, spreading their blood into the veins of a few.

_Like me._

She shivers, rubs her arms, starts to walk.

Barbas walks beside her. He chatters incessantly about the weather, their little adventure to retrieve the rueful axe, his master’s temper, the cliffs, the mountains, what she can expect when she climbs those steps – _[ I only ever got half way. Some nasty trolls live up there. Good thing I run faster than they do ]_ – and she relaxes. The dog is a pleasant companion, and she has spent so much of her life alone. He is so close that she absently reaches out to pat his head.

He freezes, looks at her. There is a strange look in the dog’s eyes, a reminder that while he might wear a dog’s form, and despite what he might claim, he is not, and has never truly been, a dog. He is something else, a being not of this plane, he is a creature of Oblivion, like his master. He simply looks, acts, and behaves like a dog.

“Sorry,” she says.

_[ Oh ]_ Barbas whines softly. _[ Actually… I liked that. Would you do it again? ]_

She strokes his ears, gives them a good scratching.

_[ Ah, that’s the spot. Thank you. Clavicus never pets me ]_

“Well, he’s missing out,” Selene says.

_[ It’s too bad you didn’t sell your soul to Clavicus. If you had, I could always find you when I need a good ear scratching ]_

She laughs. “Tell you what, Barbas, if I’m ever walking by this gods-forsaken path, I’ll stop in to see you. How about that?”

_[ You mean it? ]_

“Absolutely. You’re a good dog.”

_[ You know, for a mortal, you’re all right ]_

“I’m trying,” she says, offering a tight smile. _Gods, I’m trying._

They walk together until they find a road sign pointing to Ivarstead. She gives Barbas one last thorough ear scratching, and bids him farewell. “Be good, Barbas,” she says.

_[ I’m always good ]_ Barbas assures her. _[ It’s the others you have to watch out for ]_

“Other daedra?”

_[ Them, too. Be careful, won’t you? ]_

She waves as the dog fades away into the whispering snow.

Other daedra. She shivers at the very thought. Talos willing, she’ll avoid them.


	2. Lady Namira, Unwelcome Guest

Talos is either not willing, or not interested. She hasn’t decided yet.

She wipes her mouth of blood as soon as she leaves the cave, and staggers down the path. She’s eaten well, filled her belly with flesh and blood, and she groans, dazed in the aftermath of the feast. The priest of Arkay died quickly, and she remembers the taste of his flesh, his blood, the soft warmth of his life sliding down her throat. She can still taste him.

Sometime after moon rise, an hour or so outside of Dragon’s Bridge, her head clears. She sinks to her knees, and finds a spot to throw up. She doesn’t know what came over her over the past day, but she’s very well aware of what she’s done. She looks at the ring on her finger, can feel her guts churning in rebellion. She heaves, blood and raw flesh spilling past her lips. Namira is pleased, Eola thinks she’s special, and Selene is going to be sick again.

She tugs the ring free of her finger as soon as she has enough sense to do so. She knows Eola lied, knows the mage tricked her, did something to her mind. She’s not a cannibal, she never was – _I never had any siblings, it was all a lie, I’ve never done that before now_ – and she gags, purging herself of the last of the forsaken meal.

She leans against a rock, exhausted, her stomach aching, her body covered in sweat. She imagines the Lady of Decay is laughing at her weak champion, mocking the pitiful body and mind that rebel against her gifts. Selene finds the very idea infuriating. She struggles to her feet. She is no daedra’s pawn, no daedra’s champion. She won’t become one of their toys, not ever.

She looks over her shoulder, down the long path back to the coven’s hiding place. She could go back, kill them all, punish them…

_For what? I joined them. I did what I thought I had to do._

She shivers. Barbas warned her to be careful, and she was foolish enough to trust. What was it about Eola that made her trust her? She was so quiet, calm, well-spoken, and almost kind. They shared a meal and Eola praised her, like they were friends, comrades in arms.

Selens shivers, hugs herself. For that brief moment, in the fog, she thought Eola  _was_ her friend, a rare thing in this land of her birth. Skyrim is a sprawling land, but it is no place for fools, for weaklings who trust the first people to offer hands in friendship or love. It is no place for those things.

She thinks back to Helgen, to the sight of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, his loyal soldiers, Ralof and the rest. Ralof told her to journey to Windhelm and join her brothers and sisters in arms, to take up arms against the Empire, to drive them out of Skyrim. There might be a chance for true companionship there, for friendship, and…

She hears a voice purring in her ear: **_And if the dead are Imperials, what does it matter? Meat is meat, and what more worthy prey to wash your hands in? Bathe in their blood, my champion._**

“I hadn’t touched meat in years until today,” Selene hisses.

**_You simply hadn’t had the right kind, my pet._ **

She shudders, feels her body rebelling. She’s going to be sick again.

Namira’s voice coos: **_If you do not feast on them, then at least wallow in their slaughter. Whether serving a dying empire or a dying rebellion, their deaths make no difference to me. Cover yourself in their blood, wear it as armor, even if you do not consume them._**

She remembers the headman’s axe, how close it came to her own neck.

_They were going to kill me for being in the wrong place at the wrong time._

“The Imperials must die,” she murmurs.

**_The cause does not interest me, pet. Only the bleeding._ **

“I won’t eat them,” she snaps. “I won’t do it.”

**_You are already wretched, pet. You cannot hide from that._ **

“I can make sure it never happens again.” She struggles to her feet, clenching Namira’s ring in her fist. “You cannot force me.”

**_I do not think I will need to force you,_** the Lady of Decay’s voice slithers around her. **_A time will come. You will be afraid, you will need to eat, and you will do what must be done._**

“Not on your terms.”

**_My terms, or another’s. You think daedra do not converse amongst ourselves? You are only as safe as you think you are._ **

Selene squeezes the ring so tightly that it pierces her palm. Her blood slides across its surface. She feels the metal warm within her grasp.

**_A blood sacrifice? To me? I am touched, pet. Your next moon phase is due. Pay me tribute, and I will never trouble you again._ **

It is an offer Selene can live with. She swallows her nausea, and makes for Dragon’s Bridge. She takes a horse to Solitude, rents a room in the Winking Skeever for the night. The cramps come violently as she sleeps, waking her, and she limps down the stairs to the bar. She pays for the rest of the week, before returning to her room, whimpering and moaning through the horrific tearing of her insides. She hopes the Lady of Decay appreciates her tribute.


End file.
